


i'd rather fuck you than kiss you

by Anonymous



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Coming Untouched, Cunnilingus, Gender or Sex Swap, M/M, Oral Sex, Shameless Smut, aziraphale is a pillow princess whether he likes it or not, kink meme prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-05-29 13:37:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19401409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: per the good omens kink meme: "Crowley finding endless delight in getting Aziraphale off while not receiving any sexual touch himself. He's driven/gratified by Aziraphale's expressions of lust and pleasure and happiness and praise." (https://good-omens-kink.dreamwidth.org/616.html?thread=76648)





	i'd rather fuck you than kiss you

**Author's Note:**

> this isn't an *exact* fill of the prompt but i'm pleased nonetheless. additionally the cocktail mentioned in the fic is actually one of my favorite drinks.

“Oh… _heavens_ ,” Aziraphale whimpers, settling into an insanely plush nest of quilts and down comforters. Crowley scoffed at Aziraphale’s bed; all thick pillows and cushy blankets in patterns akin to what your gran kept in a linen closet for when you had guests. 

Crowley groaned, digging unbelievably sharp nails into the softness of Aziraphale’s thighs. He had dropped to his knees, still clad in those damned leather pants and grabbed Aziraphale by the delicate skin behind his knees and forcibly pulled him to the edge of the bed. Crowley had to really tempt Aziraphale into letting him do this, letting Crowley spread him wide like this. His own modesty and decorum meant that Aziraphale equated sex with darkness— dimmed lights, flickering candles, sweet kisses with wine-tinged breath. Here, he felt too open, too exposed. Crowley hooked Aziraphale’s knees over his shoulders, bony hands keeping those knees spread wide. 

Tonight was going to be a long night.

When it came to sex, his own pleasure was more of an afterthought; moaning in ecstasy as Crowley used his body to bring himself to climax, closing his eyes and gritting his teeth as he thrust himself to the hilt into Aziraphale’s pliant body. He wasn’t _ashamed_ to ask for his own pleasure, he just rather liked helping Crowley find his own first. 

Oh, how sweet Crowley ( _not that I would ever call him such,_ Aziraphale thought) had tried so hard to get Aziraphale to get mouthy with him. But Aziraphale never did! He was perfectly pleased as punch to conjure up between his thighs whatever he craved and let the sensations wash over Crowley. His lover was a generous one and Aziraphale never worried about wanting or his own needs being unattended to. 

Except there was that night, oh about three or four months ago, where they had gotten into entirely too much scotch together. Crowley, in his desperate attempts to keep up with the time, fancied himself a modern bartender and had whipped up something specifically for Aziraphale that included not just that regrettable scotch, but a tart apple liqueur, something with a hint of cinnamon spice, and a dash of something that smelled like peaches and perfume. 

Crowley said they were just for Aziraphale and stuck that pointed nose up at the concoction, yet mysteriously kept consuming the amber-gold liquid, cinnamon swirling within the glass that magically refilled itself. Angels and demons did not get as drunk as fast as humans did, those fragile little bodies so easily riddled with intoxication, but they did get drunk. And drunk Crowley was, yellow eyes unfocused as his glasses slid down his nose as he gestured and spoke. Aziraphale was a different drunk; his ears burned as he flushed and he was wont to giggle the more alcohol he took in.

“’S like…” Crowley started, pausing. “I jus’ wish you’d let me do _more_.”

“M-more, darling?”

“This,” he slurred, gesturing to his crotch and those tight trousers, “gets entirely too much attention when we have s-s _ex_.”

“Why yes,” Aziraphale giggled. “You’re not exactly that sensitive behind your ears o-or on your elbows or—“

“’S not the point!” Crowley’s brows knit together, relaxed, and then knit again. “You’re too good.”

Silence. A strange sense of discomfort crept into Aziraphale’s belly. 

“Jus’…” Crowley started, eyes closing. His hand drifted towards his lap, pulling on the crotch of his pants to give himself more room. 

_Oh_.

“Use your words,” Aziraphale murmured, suddenly flushed with more than sweet liqueur. “S…say it.”

“You never let me touch you,” Crowley starts. “You’re too dignified.”

“Well—“

“ _No_.” A hearty gulp. The glass refills. Crowley adjusts in his chair and the drink sloshes, spilling lightly over his hand. Aziraphale’s mouth goes dry. 

“I just want to…” Crowley groans in frustration, words failing him. “I jus’ want to spread you out on that damn bed of yours. And j-just touch you for hours. Make you come again and again and again. And then—“

“Fuck me?” Aziraphale offers, hoping the expletive arouses Crowley as much as his words are arousing Aziraphale.

Instead Crowley shakes his head. “No. No, I don’t come at all. Or maybe I come just from touching you.” 

“ _Oh_.”

“Do you remember Christmas? After we left Anathema’s and Newt’s?”

Aziraphale would never forget. He was so giddy, flushed with the holiday spirit as they returned to Aziraphale’s flat. Beautiful gifts had been exchanged, Newt presenting lumpy, chunky hand-knit goods to everyone. Anathema’s eyes shone bright and she wrapped a serpentine green scarf around Crowley’s neck with glee. She’d made a decadent chocolate cake, topped with pomegranate seeds. The symbolism of a beautiful woman with a dangerous fruit made Crowley snort, a blasé roll of his eyes. 

But Crowley wasn’t reminiscing about baked goods or crafts. He was referring to that night, when he’d stuck that forked tongue into the sweet heat between Aziraphale’s trembling thighs. They didn’t do it this way very often; Crowley preferred Aziraphale’s fat cock to the throbbing damp mess of curls and flesh. An orgasm was an orgasm, but Aziraphale preferred orgasms with a cunt; he felt they started lower in his belly and would ricochet through his entire body when he came. 

And came.

And came.

And _came_.

Through a careful mix of teasing, pressure, and sheer determination, Crowley pulled five orgasms out of Aziraphale in less than an hour. He was too drowsy for sex and slowly faded to sleep with the delicate sensation of Crowley kissing his shaking thighs and belly. When they awoke in the morn, Aziraphale was more than prepared to repay Crowley for the night before. Instead Crowley had kissed him deeply and whisked away to make coffee. 

“Wanna do that all th’ time,” Crowley admitted. “Wanna make you feel good.”

“Then you shall,” Aziraphale promised. 

This is how Aziraphale finds himself now, spread out on his plush bed, arms stretched delightfully over his head as Crowley sucks lightly at his clit. Each pull of Crowley’s mouth shoots sharp darts of pleasure through Aziraphale’s entire body and he almost giggles with the sensation, arousal settling into playfulness. 

The first orgasm burned through him; he had pushed himself up on his elbows and tried to pull away from the sensation. Crowley growled in displeasure, tightening his grip on Aziraphale’s tender hips, pulling that cunt closer to his hungry mouth. 

That was an hour ago. Crowley hadn’t even undressed, was still wearing his damn vest and shoes! He unwrapped Aziraphale like he was some kind of sweet, kissing as every layer was peeled away from his body. 

“D-ah! Darling, I don’t think there’s any _more_!” Aziraphale’s voice pitches an octave as Crowley drags the flat of his tongue over the sensitive flesh. The gesture is obscene and Aziraphale flushes at it; all the things they’ve done and being licked like a lolly is what makes pleasure pool in Aziraphale’s stomach. 

“Oh, you’ve got at least one more,” Crowley encourages, placing a smacking kiss to the inside of his left thigh. 

“What about you?”

The tongue drags over right thigh now. “What about me, angel?”

“Are you going to…you know?”

“Whip my cock out and fuck you silly?”

“Crowley!” he chides. 

Crowley makes a mocking noise, rubbing his hands over Aziraphale’s hips. “This isn’t about me.”

“But I want to make you—“

“Who’s to say you haven’t already?” the words are muffled; Crowley is nosing between his thighs now. 

“You _didn’t_!”

Crowley hums in delight, sliding two fingers into Aziraphale. He gasps and Crowley chuckles into his skin.

“I’d say about 45 minutes ago at this point. Or after you’d come for the third time.” He flicks his tongue against Aziraphale’s clit and smiles as his thighs clamp around him. 

“Oh, you have got _plenty_ more to give.”


End file.
